Authors: Frederic Lindsay
What
a
scene
that
would
be!
How
would
she
explain
it to
Maitland?
Poor
darling,
he
would
wonder
what
was
going
on.
He
would
have
no
idea.
She
saw
Mr
Terence
nodding
at
her
as
if
to
share
the
joke
and
realised
she
had
joined
in
the
laughter.
Maitland
held
their
tickets
in
his
left
hand,
glancing
at
them
and
then
at
the
white
letter
painted
on
the
end
of
each
row;
yet
behind
him
Lucy
had
no
difficulty
in
seeing
where
they
must
be
going.
The
heavy-featured
girl,
the
one
Maitland
had
said
was
the
doctor,
from
an
aisle
seat
halfway
down
on
the
right
was
twisted
round
watching
them.
We're
going
to
have
to
squeeze
in
past
her,
Lucy
thought,
and
then
by
the
patients
–
they
were
all
there,
probably
they
had
remained
seated
all
through
the
interval,
that
would
have
been
best
(unless
they
had
wanted
to
go
to
the
toilet?
That
would
be
why
there
would
be
two
nurses,
the
male
one
she
had
mistaken
for
the
doctor) –
it
was
unpleasant
to
think
of
having
to
touch
them,
feel
the
pressure
of
their
knees,
bodies,
would
they
realise
they
should
stand
up
to
let
people
pass?
Worse
almost
if
they
did
stand
up.
Then
Maitland
was
stopping,
leaning
down
to
exchange
words
with
the
doctor,
and
there
were
two
empty
seats
in
the
row
just
behind,
and
she
was
ashamed
of
what
she
had
been
thinking
and
busy
with
that
she
had
sat
down
before
realising
the
woman
in
the
next
seat
was
Sophie
Lindgren.
Before
she
could
react,
Maitland
had
taken
his
place beside
her,
still
talking
to
the
doctor
woman
.
A
hand
touched
her
lightly
on
the
shoulder.
From
the
row
behind,
Monty
Norman's
face
was
pushed
towards
hers.
'It's
all
right
now?'
he
asked.
'The
professor's
wife suffers
from
headaches,'
he
explained
to
Sophie
Lindgren
.
Nothing
could
have
been
more
reasonably
sympathetic
than
his
tone,
but
Sophie
Lindgren
shrank
from
him.
The
movement
was
so
exaggerated
that
Lucy
knew
the
girl
had
to
be
acting.
Monty
Norman
eased
back
until
he
was
framed
between May
Stewart
and
cautious
Mr
Terence
seated
on
either side
of
him,
just
where
he
should
be,
in
the
context
of
the
Trust
for
which
he
worked,
nothing
could
be
more
normal.
'It's
kind
of
you
to
ask.’
She
felt
a
sudden
warmth towards
the
little
vulgar
good-hearted
man.
'You're
quite
right,
I
wasn't
feeling
well.
But
I
feel
better
now.’
'It
was
the
heat
in
the
bar,
I
expect.’
'And
the
noise.’
He
leaned
forward
again.
'Are
you
looking
forward
to
the
show?'
'I'm
not
sure.’
'Me
neither.
It's
not
my
cup
of
tea,
not
what
I'd
pay
to
go
and
see,
not
left
to
myself.
– Would
you?'
but
Sophie
Lindgren
seemed
not
to
hear
him.
It
was
nearly
time,
most
of
the
audience
were
seated,
in a
moment
the
lights
would
dim.
The
patient
in
front
of
her,
the
man
who
had
been
led
out
of
the
greenroom,
was
sitting
with
his
head
bent
forward.
He's crying
,
she
thought,
while that wretched girl ignores him, not caring. What kind of doctor does she call herself?
A
wave
of
indignation
swept
over
her,
but
when
she
leaned
forward
in
protest
to
comfort
him
he
was
bent
over
an
ice-cream
rubbing
it
with
his
lips
and
sucking
pieces
into
his
mouth.
As
she
sank
back
feeling
slightly
sick,
the
auditorium darkened
and
the
Great
Sovek
was
there
alone
on
stage,
appearing
from
nowhere
it
seemed
in
an
outflowing
of
Indian-sounding
music.
He
asked
them
to
clasp
their
fingers,
intertwine
them,
tighter
and
tighter;
but
when
she
went
to
do
so
Maitland
laid
his
hand
gently
over
hers.
It
was
just
as
well
since
next
they
were
told
that
it
might
be
hard
to
separate
their
hands,
and
almost
at
once
people
were
shuffling
along
the
rows,
crouched
in
embarrassment
or
grinning
towards
the
stage.
She
felt
a
touch
on
her
arm
and
it
was
Sophie
Lindgren,
pressing
against
her
with
hands
clasped
tightly
together.
She
pulled
away
in
disgust
but
the
girl
leaned
towards
her.
Her
lips
came
close
almost
touching
Lucy's
cheek.
Thinking
about
it
afterwards,
she knew
it
must
have
been
noisy,
yet
she
never
doubted
that
it
was
then
she
heard
Sophie
Lindgren
sigh.